


Wedding

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Orgasm Control, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn prompt series.</p><p>sherlock makes sure john is properly prepared for harry's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the tentative idea of it being a follow-up to "Lei."

God he needs to come. The wooden bench is hard and pressing at the plug in him, pushing it into him and making him shift constantly. He is hard. He is so hard, and he is unbelievably grateful for the long coat he had decided to buy one winter because it had reminded him of Sherlock. He’s less grateful that Sherlock had seen it and smiled, and John knew it had been a colossal mistake to let him see.

It encompasses him now, making him sweat in the stifling hall. He knows his face is flushed and sticky looking and the woman on his left keeps glancing over at him, concern evident in her face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?” she whispers to him in a kind voice, and he manages to smile back and nod, aware of the heat of Sherlock’s thigh pressing into him on his other side. He can feel it through the coat, through his trousers. The wool of the suit is itchy and sticky against his damp and reddened skin.

The ceremony takes forever. God. Why do people  _do_  this to themselves? By the time Harry and Clara make their joint walk back down the aisle, he doesn’t know if he can stand any more, but Sherlock’s voice in his ear, low and heavy with amusement, is nothing less than a command.

“Stand up, John,” and he does, with a quiet moan he isn’t quite able to stifle. Sherlock chuckles. “You must be so hard right now. I can practically smell you. Sweat and semen. It’s delicious, John.”

John doesn’t say anything, but he can feel himself flush even further, his entire body blazing with heat and the woman on his other side gives him a look of true alarm. He smiles at her and knows he must look utterly manic.

The reception is nearby. Thank God.  _Thank God._  He is aching and stumbling, trying to walk straight but the plug is shifting and grinding inside of him with every step, and now that he’s walking, the heavy wool of the coat is rubbing at his cock, brushing against him with agonising familiarity. He wishes he hadn’t agreed to this, hadn’t let Sherlock do this to him, but he knows that’s a lie. He is utterly aware of his state under that covering coat, of his penis, red and flushed, the cockring settled tight around its base, clenched around his balls, of the trousers of his expensive suit left wide open so that his cock, red and hard and dripping, juts out, huge and obscene. God is he aware. So aware of the thrill of this, of how close they are to discovery, how little stands between him and all these strangers around him. He imagines it, can picture it so easily, Sherlock pushing him against a table, a chair, the wall, the stage, a broad hand between his shoulder blades while he fucks him from behind, John’s cock bobbing and naked and exposed, his eyes wide and staring, utterly unable to escape the scandalised faces of the other guests while his screams drown out their shocked whispers. God he can imagine it and it makes him even harder. It terrifies and excites him and he doesn’t even realise he’s whimpering until Sherlock puts a hand on his waist and squeezes and says “Hush, John. Everyone will know. Everyone will see what you are, how you’re being used. Everyone will know that you’re owned if you keep this up.”

John moans and the soft chuckle in his ear turns into a quiet groan. “God I want to take you, John. I know you want it. You want them to see me fuck you, don’t you? You want them to hear you screaming while I fuck you hard and come deep inside your hole. You want them to smell the desperation on you as I plug you up again after using that greedy little hole of yours and leave you hard and whining on the floor.”

“Sherlock,” John whispers, and he can barely speak. “Sherlock, please. Please.”

“John,” Sherlock moans. “My John. You haven’t earned it yet, have you?” And with a last grip of his hand on John’s waist, he pulls him onto the dance floor for the waltz.


End file.
